Kairosclerosis
by Levi's Teacup
Summary: What's a dream? What isn't? Maka has a very difficult time distinguishing the difference between the two. However, she overlooked the possibility that maybe what she dreams is actually coming true Prepare to cry. Prepare to swoon. Death, angst, smut, gross cuddling. I got it all here. This is a longer series though so kick back and relax a little
1. Chapter 1

"A serene soul.

Dwells within a serene mind.

And a serene.. mind..?

No no no. Far from correct. Where did the saying come from? Why is it all too familiar yet so distant from memory? It feels more like a phrase that was conjured up in mind after thinking much too long about an aesthetic quote. Yet it feels somehow unfulfilled and strange.

Where did it start? And where did it end?

If you remember enough, it's almost like you can see it. She remembers standing at the top of a staircase looking down at the next stepping stone to better a partnership with someone she shared her life with.

It wasn't difficult. It was easy when the two worked together like a well oiled machine as they always seemed to do so.

She remembers him. But not as he was now. He was somehow different; naive, immature. The little things about him. His clothes, his body shape, his hair, his face. His face seemed to give her a slight jolt forcing her eyes open to stare at a blank and plain ceiling.

She rolled over to face him but somehow staring at his face for what was probably the millionth time; it was different. She saw somebody different and somebody that never changed.

Her fingers traced over his bare chest running along the scar that was now merely a slight flesh discoloration in the form of a line running from his collarbone to the opposite side at his waist.

It was always there. Always lingering with some hidden guilt the both burdened. She knew how it came to be. She was there. But the depiction of some other event clouded her mind.

She'd simply labeled these thoughts as nothing more than her imagination running free with day dreams about a high school life where she was a trained and skilled fighter. Sometimes she liked the thought of her imaginary life better than her current one. But then she looks at his face and is reminded of why she prefers reality of imagination every single time.

However, lately imagination has been much more active, even going as far as to confuse her in which is reality and which is fiction.

Her thoughts feel more real each time she reenters them and soon she has this entire plot of another life conjured up in her mind.

She began to think about it again. So much so that she eventuay found herself drifting back off into a sleep that harbored enough material to make its way into a dream.

A dream that would seem to last weeks, months, even years long. The same dream she would always have. The reason she believed she wasn't who she really was.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: Hey I got my first review for this one! It's taking me a while to get back into the groove of writing again after so long but I think I'm getting it down again (: Thanks for taking the time to read! I made this one a lot longer. I kinda want the first chapter to be irrelevant until the end because it is a little part of it. Start a fanfic with the end. You'll draw at least one person in! Haha!**

Eyes fluttered open, occasionally shutting tightly before adjusting to the light that shone through blinds. Typically waking up naturally meant a good morning. A Saturday morning.

Maka blinked up at the ceiling letting her body catch up to her mind to process that it was indeed time to get up and start the day. She stayed where she was stretching her limbs out across the bed before her arms gravitated upward to intertwine her fingers, popping bones here and there until relief swelled over each muscle throughout her body. Saturday mornings were always easy. They consisted of the same thing every morning consisted of but at a much slower speed. Her legs swung around the edge of the bed, dangling idly as she rubbed at her eyes; a silent yawn finally rising up.

Her morning routines had become a daily life step. Get up, brush her hair, brush her teeth and get to the kitchen quiet enough to not disturb her sleeping roommate who normally didn't wake for another hour or so.  
Breakfast was typically the same as well other than the occasional switch to satisfy her roommate's unbearable sugary desires (which also happened to normally take place on Saturday mornings like this one.).

Maka made her way to the kitchen, turning on the oven as she walked past it to the refrigerator. Inside, there wasn't much. Exactly what you'd expect for two college students. The bare necessities and then some. And yet another yawn escaped from her lips as she grabbed a canister of cinnamon rolls; one of those unbearable sugary desires that her roommate required at least twice a week. She'd grown past the fear of the can giving a soft pop when she unraveled it to a certain point. It was routine. She lived with Soul for nearly four years now. Doing this twice a weak made her numb to it; no matter how inhumane it made her to no longer be affected by it.

A tray of cinnamon rolls in the oven later, she went back to the restroom to complete the part of her morning that she skipped simply to get breakfast done sooner. She was always the one pushing and edging Soul to eat healthier with her but someone he always managed to convince her to take a break and 'reward herself for eating so well' (as he phrases it). If life was that easy, she wouldn't have this set routine made in the first place and she certainly wouldn't _need_ to brush her teeth both before and after breakfast to ensure she wouldn't get a cavity from just how overly sweet their breakfast would be.

Maka was extremely good at keeping a mental clock in mind as she never sets a timer for the things she cooks in the morning. Not unless she wants to purposefully hear her roommate bitch, moan, and complain about how she's the reason he doesn't get enough sleep. Though she never takes it personally. That's just who he is and she's grown to just know that he doesn't ever mean to hurt her feelings. Most of the time. He would've been long gone by now if he actually meant some of the things he said to her. But the fantastic thing about the Saturday breakfasts she prepares is that they never take long. The cinnamon rolls are supposed to take no longer than 20 minutes to both prepare and cook and she's forever grateful sometimes for his sugary fixes only because it means she doesn't have to exert so much of her energy into a breakfast that touches on every part of the food pyramid. Somebody has to make sure Soul eats healthy or else he'll spend all day every day wolfing down gummy bears and Red Bull.

The smell of cinnamon and bread filled the kitchen around her as she carefully fished the pan out of the oven with an oven mitt. The can of icing had already been set on the stove top absorbing the heat the metal takes in so that she can double team breakfast and have the icing already heated and gooey. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of her roommate can be heard getting out of bed. Nothing really wakes him up better than the smell of food anyway. And as if on cue, she's already drizzled icing across the cinnamon rolls and spooned a couple of then in the plate to hand him as he walks out.

Soul let out a long sigh as he stretched his arms out in front of him, taking the plate from Maka as he doubled back to the couch. Maka's cheeks always flushed this hardly existant soft shade of pink no matter how many times she'd seen Soul in just his boxers every morning. They lived together. This was normal but the sight of any man half naked would turn her some shade darker.

Soul sat back against the couch and kicked his legs up onto the table and with a mouth already full of breakfast, he gave a half-assed sort of wave of his pinkie to Maka to acknowledge her presence. "'Morning. Sleep well?"

Maka's eyes met his and she gave a shrugged, heading back into the kitchen to grab herself breakfast. "I slept okay." After grabbing a cinnamon roll she went back out, sitting on the arm of the couch closest to Soul. "Could've been better. Could've been worse." And a bite full of breakfast later, she returned the question. "You?"

Soul shrugged back at her popping the entirety of the cinnamon roll into his mouth before starting on the next one; a talent really. "Fine. Let's do something today. Explore the mall or see a movie. Anything." He glanced up at Maka through tired and lazy eyes. "I'd rather not be cooped up here all day on a Saturday. " He'd obviously noticed the confused look on Maka's face resulting in him feeling like he needed to explain himself. This Saturday was normal. Routine. Except the part where Soul wanted to spend the day with her. Saturdays were a day for him to catch up with Black Star and have a chance to be boys and do what boys do. Not hang out with someone he spent every waking moment with. "I mean it's cool if you are up for it. I'll call Black Star."

Maka shook her head perhaps a bit to hectic and rushed. "No no! We can go out. I think it'll be fun. We hardly ever go out." And it wasn't a lie. The only time they spent together was on missions or at school which was all strictly business and then back at the apartment where the only communication that happened between them was to argue over dinner or who gets to steal all the hot water for a shower first. "Mall first then a movie tonight?"

"Sounds good to me."

Popping the other cinnamon roll in his mouth, he didn't bother to waste time getting up to get dressed for the day. Something seemed off and Maka couldn't really quite place what it was. It normally took Soul a good hour or two before he could even think about going out with Black Star but here he was, moments later as presentable as Soul could be on a Saturday morning. He hadn't really done much with his hair. He never did. Simply threw a hair band in it and called it a day. His Saturday attire was typically the same every week. Jeans and a T-shirt and that was as far as his efforts reached. Along with the leather jacket he would grab before leaving.

Maka's outfits however were different every week thanks to Blair and Liz's consistent nagging to wear something to catch her roommate's eye. It was more than obvious that her friends as well as Soul's tried their damnedest to weasle their way into their nonexistent romantic relationship. It was like watching someone light a match in hopes that it would turn into a sparkler; it would go from this still small flame to something bright and exciting. But neither of the two felt that way towards each other. They were partners for as long as they would have each other and the respect that they had for each other surpassed any sort of feelings that would never really spark. That being said, neither of them had any interest to date either but that surely didn't stop teenage hormones and desires. They weren't going to pretend like they haven't snuck glances at each other. Maka when Soul walks around in his boxers. Or Soul when Maka wears those short as all hell skirts. You could say hormones had gotten the better of them lately. They felt something. But it wasn't love. Or at least not romantically. They truly were just friends and that was it. Or so they thought.

Maka's outfit today consisted of a big, fluffy, pink sweater considering how cold the weather had gotten and one of those oh so short skirts that Soul despises (which contradicted her need for a big sweater leading him to believe that she was only attempting to catch his attention), complete with thigh highs that were bound to catch _somebody's_ attention if not Soul's.

He scoffed softly at the sight and crossed his arms over his chest like a father about to scold his daughter. "You are so not wearing that out."

"Why not?" Maka tilted her head and you could practically taste the tease drooling from her lips. "I can't just turn down the outfits Liz gives me."

"Yeah but you also can't turn down the fact that some creepy old guy is gonna grab at your ass. Change."

"The creepy old guy is you." She pouted her lips in that cute little way she always does in a playful argument and crossed her own arms over her chest as she turned on her heel a little too quickly giving Soul a flash of the frilly pink panties she had on underneath that surprisingly actually matched her sweater pretty well.

God damn it.

Soul ran his fingers through the back of his hair and followed behind her grabbing his jacket off of the coat rack. "Don't come crying to me when both me and the creppy old guy grab at your ass then." He swatted playfully at her butt before tugging on the back of it as if it would make her skirt even a little longer but of course it was no use.

"Then don't come crying to me when you get a good ass kicking and we've got a deal."

"Yeah.. Whatever you say."


End file.
